The Case of the Emerald Ring
by AmberLS123
Summary: Remember the lady in green at the end of the movie with the missing emerald ring? Here Dr. Dawson recounts the case, his second with the famous Basil of Baker Street.
1. Chapter 1

Basil of Baker Street &

The Case of the Emerald Ring

As told by David Q. Dawson, M. D.

When I think back on the summer of 1897, the first and I think most important event that comes to my mind is the remarkable Flaversham case, as it came to be called. It is most memorable not only because it concluded with the destruction of Professor Ratigan and his criminal regime; but also because it was the highlight of the career of my friend and colleague, the great mouse detective, Basil of Baker Street.

However, that was not the only memorable event of that year. In fact, only about a week after the conclusion of the Flaversham case, I once again found myself thrown in the midst of yet another mystery; an affair so tangled that I still marvel at how easily Basil managed to unravel it.

On June 21, soon after the Flavershams had gone and just as I was about to leave, there was a soft knock upon the front door. When I opened it, I was startled to find a lovely young lady. She was very pretty, with light brown fur and the clearest, bluest eyes I've ever seen. She wore an olive green coat over her dress, with pink lace at her neck. A yellow flower was stuck in her matching hat, completing her polished look.

"I-Is this the home of the famous Basil of Baker Street?" she asked nervously.

"Indeed it is, Miss," I replied with a tip of my hat. As I looked more closely, I noticed that she was close to tears. "You look as if you're in some trouble."

"Oh, I am!" the poor girl sobbed, wiping tears from her eyes. "I am."

"Then you've come to precisely the right place," I assured her.

Basil suddenly appeared by my side and gestured grandly. "Ah! Allow me to introduce my trusted associate, Dr. Dawson. With whom I do _all_ my cases," he added. He looked at me expectantly. "Isn't that right, Doctor?"

"Wha…what?" I asked confused. Moments before the lady arrived, I had been gathering my things to leave. Basil had appeared a bit disappointed that I was leaving so soon, but I had only been in London for a short time, and had yet to find a permanent residence. I was surprised at his suggestion to stay. He later explained that he was behind in his payments to his landlady, Mrs. Judson; which isn't surprising, because he rarely takes any payment from his clients, unless they insist. And since I was in need of a place to stay, it was convenient for the both of us. Of course, I knew I would have to talk with Mrs. Judson about it later, but I heartily agreed to become his colleague. "Why, yes," I answered, shaking Basil's hand. "Yes, by all means."

Then the detective cleared his throat and turned to our visitor. Putting a hand to his chin, he began to assess his client. "As you can see, Dawson," he began, "this young lady has just arrived from the Hampstead District, and is troubled about the mysterious disappearance of an emerald ring, missing from the third finger of her right hand." He seemed to take no notice of the astonishment written on the lady's face, as well as on my own. "Now, tell me your story, and pray, be precise. The slightest detail can be the most important."

"A-Alright," she said, still looking surprised at Basil's deduction. "My name is Abigail Lockhart…but Mr. Basil, how do you know that I'm from Hampstead, and that I'm here about my ring? I don't see how you could possibly know all that about me, especially since we've never met."

Basil smiled as he waved our guest to a chair. "Well, Miss Lockhart, I noticed that the perfume you're wearing is a particular lilac scent, and is most popular in the stores at Hampstead. I know because it is my sister's favorite scent, and I've traveled to Hampstead on more than one occasion and bought it for her as a gift. As to the ring, the lighter skin around the third finger of your right hand suggests that you wear a ring of which you are very fond, since you wear it constantly. Am I correct so far?"

"Y-Yes, you are," she replied incredibly.

"But how could you possibly know it's an emerald if you've never seen it?" I asked, just as puzzled as she about his inferences. I had already witnessed his remarkable powers of deduction; when we first met, he was able to tell, by observing a single stitch on my coat sleeve, that I was a military surgeon who had just arrived in London after lengthy service in Afghanistan. But it was still hard to believe that he was able to tell all that about a complete stranger just at a glance.

"It's simplicity itself, my dear Dawson," he explained. "I recalled reading an advertisement in the agony column of today's newspaper, placed by someone named A. L. of Hampstead, offering a reward for any information regarding the disappearance of an emerald ring. So I deduced that you must be the young lady in search of her missing emerald."

The lady laughed. "Of course; I'd forgotten about the ad. It seems so simple once you explain it. But it's still remarkable."

Basil smiled. Although he was obviously flattered, he didn't boast. "It was elementary, Miss Lockhart."

"Oh, you can call me Abby. Everyone else does."

"Alright. Now, let us hear your story, Miss Abby. I ask once again, please be sure not to leave out any details, no matter how trifling they may appear."

"Well, I suppose I'll begin by telling you a little about myself. I live with the Fletcher family. Mr. Fletcher was my father's business partner as well as a close family friend, and when my parents died in a fire a few years ago, he took me in. Mrs. Fletcher is in poor health, so I help her take care of the house and act as a governess for the children, but they are really like family to me.

"Now, I'm usually the last one in the house to go to bed, so I always check the windows and doors to make sure they're locked. As I did so last night, I saw the maid talking with someone in the garden. Hannah is just a young girl, a few years younger than I am, and I knew that she had a lover, named John Benet, whom she meets sometimes by the garden gate. I called her into the house, and chided her for being out so late. Then I sent her on to bed, and after checking the rest of the locks, retired myself.

"I'm sure you can guess the rest. I took the ring off and put in a small black box on my dresser right before I got in the bed. Usually I put it back on as soon as I get up in the morning. But now the box and the ring are both gone."

As our visitor finished, I looked over at Basil. He had been silent throughout Miss Abby's narrative, but I noticed that as he listened, he grew more excited at the prospect of a new case. The keen look in his eyes betrayed that he was elated at the chance to once again stimulate his mind with a challenge. He leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, fingers steepled together. "Your story is most engaging. This thief must have a cool head about him, or her, especially since there was a high risk of waking you."

"Yes. I'm not a heavy sleeper, but I never heard a thing. Thank goodness it was only a thief…he could have done whatever he wanted to me, and I would never have known it…and the children were just down the hall…" Unable to continue, the poor girl broke down and began to cry.

Basil fidgeted in his chair and stared at the floor. He looked very uncomfortable, and seemed to be at a loss for words. He clearly had no experience with this sort of thing, so I took it upon myself to console the lady. "There, there now," I said, patting her hand gently. "It's alright. I know this must be a dreadful experience for you, but everything will be fine, you'll see." As she dried her eyes, Basil cast a grateful look in my direction. It made me glad to know that I had been of some assistance.

When Miss Abby was calmed, Basil cleared his throat and continued his questioning. "Ahem… yes, um…h-have you notified the authorities?"

"Yes," Miss Abby replied, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "Mr. Fletcher informed Scotland Yard very soon after I discovered the ring was gone. The inspector was examining the house before I left. He seems to think that I've just misplaced it, but I'm not satisfied with that answer."

"Neither am I," Basil replied. "You seem quite certain that you put it in the box last night as you normally do, and now that box is gone. If the ring were the only thing missing, then perhaps it would be more likely that it was simply misplaced; the fact that the box is also gone suggests that it was stolen. Now, I understand the ring itself is of considerable value?"

"Yes. The emerald is set between two small diamonds, and the band is made of gold. I'm not certain as to its exact worth, but I know that it's the most valuable thing in the house."

"Nothing else was missing? Other jewelry, or china, perhaps?"

"No."

"Hmm. Then the thief must have known exactly what he was after. Who else knows of the ring's worth?"

"Well, besides Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, I suppose the only other one is Roger Garrett. He's a…a friend of mine."

"A suitor?"

It was obvious by the way Miss Abby blushed that it was true, but I glared at Basil for asking such a personal question. However, she took no offense at his inquiry. "Yes, he is. I invited him over for a visit with the family yesterday. We had a nice dinner, and he gets along so well with everyone in the house. He and I took a stroll in the garden afterwards. He stayed for a little while longer, and it was already dark when he left."

"Did he ask about the ring?"

"Well, he has asked before, and I've told him how it belonged to my mother, and how father had given it to her as an anniversary gift. He had their initials engraved inside the band, along with the date of their anniversary." Fresh tears appeared in her eyes at the memory of her deceased parents, but she blinked them back, and continued with a smile. "During dinner, Roger stated that it would look lovely with a matching necklace or earrings, and since my birthday is coming up, I assumed he asked because he was thinking about getting one of those for me as a gift." Suddenly she grew alarmed. "Oh, but Mr. Basil, surely you don't believe Roger could be the thief?"

Basil shrugged. "I'm keeping an open mind. To me, everyone is a potential suspect. But I don't have enough data yet to make an accusation. Were any servants in the room during this discussion about the ring at dinner?"

"No," she answered with a shake of her head. She hesitated for a moment, but then added, "But I suppose someone could have been listening at the door."

"Ah, you mean the maid. You believe that she could have been listening, and once she learned of its value, she told her lover when they met out in the garden, and they conspired to steal it."

Miss Abby appeared a little startled that Basil seemed to know what she had been thinking, but she continued. "Yes. That's the only solution I've come up with. Of course, she denies that she or Mr. Benet had anything to do with it."

"What do you know of this John Benet?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I believe he is an apprentice to a smith, but I'm not entirely sure. I've spoken with him once or twice. He seems decent enough, though, and at first, I had no problem with their friendship. But now I wonder if I didn't make a grave mistake by allowing Hannah to see him. And to make matters worse, he has disappeared, which makes the two of them seem more suspicious. The police interrogated Hannah thoroughly, but they didn't take her into custody for lack of proof. That's why I've come to you. I've heard how you are able to solve a case when the police can make nothing of it." She sighed heavily. "I just don't know what else to do. If it had been any other piece of jewelry, it wouldn't matter as much. But it's the only thing I have to remember my parents by. I would give anything to have it back. But I realize you must be very busy, Mr. Basil, especially since your recent success and the defeat of Professor Ratigan, so I understand if you're not able to take my case."

"I'm never too busy to help someone in distress. Your case has several features of interest, and I would be happy to provide my services to you. Now, I believe the best course of action is for us to accompany you back to Hampstead. That is, if it's alright with you, Miss Abby?" "Of course! That is exactly what I hoped you would do. After seeing your powers of deduction, I'm sure you'll find some sort of clue at the scene."

"If Grayson and his lackeys haven't torn the place up yet," he muttered under his breath. "We'll be with you shortly."

I had met Scotland Yard's chief inspector only briefly at the ceremony when we were honored by the queen for defeating Ratigan and saving the kingdom, but he had left a considerable impression on me. He was an average sized mouse, with dark brown fur and sharp brown eyes, but his demeanor was quite intimidating. He has a successful career as an officer, and his quick wit and ferocious tenacity has helped him quickly rise through the ranks of the Yard. He is also quite stubborn; once he makes up his mind about a case, even if he is wrong, he will not easily change his mind…..woe to the unfortunate mouse who gets in his way. Many a hardened criminal has withered under Grayson's severe gaze during one of his intense interrogations. Basil had helped Grayson in the past, but there was a sort of rivalry between the two detectives. Grayson often thought my friend's methods eccentric, and they butted heads on more than one occasion, but he appreciated the help that Basil had been to the Yard.

"Oh, by the way, do you happen to have a revolver?" Basil added.

"I have one, but it's in my room at the hotel."

"No problem. You can just take mine. It's in the drawer of that side table there."

"Is it really necessary?" I asked skeptically.

"I hope not," he replied, "but 'luck favors the prepared' as the saying goes."

Of course, the thought of having to use such a weapon worried me, though I have plenty of experience in the use of firearms from my military campaign in Afghanistan; but it did concern me that we may face a most dangerous villain, especially since it had been only a few days since Basil had battled with the Napoleon of Crime atop of Big Ben. I was astonished at how quickly he seemed to heal, although at times, he appeared to have little strength and often seemed exhausted. I knew the dangers that came with his line of work, but I didn't want him to overdo it and hurt himself even more.

Ratigan's claws had left deep gashes on his body, especially on his back, and most had required stitches. He had let me tend to him the first couple of days, but after that, he wouldn't let me near him, always insisting that he was fine. But even though he did his best to hide it, I could tell from my medical experience that he was still in pain. He had been bedridden for several days, so he was ready to get up and out of the house. Not wanting to offend him, I broached the topic as carefully as I could.

"How are you feeling?" I asked gently. He looked at me strangely as he took his Inverness coat from the suit of armor he used as a coat rack. "Perfect." he replied. "Never been better-" at that moment, he gasped suddenly and a pained expression crossed his face, and he grasped his right arm. I became concerned and went towards him, but he smiled weakly and held up his hand. "Don't worry, old chap. I'm fine."

I knew he hated having to rely upon others for help, and I understood that he was anxious to get back to his work; but I also knew the extent of the wounds Ratigan inflicted on him. I still went to him, and, despite his protests, helped get his injured arm into the coat sleeve. "Are you certain you're up to taking a case so soon?" I asked as I handed him his deerstalker cap. "You are still recovering, after all."

He snatched the hat out of my hand and placed it on his head. "Dawson, if I stay in this house any longer, I will most definitely go insane," he fumed. "I've been idle for far too long. My brain is racking itself to pieces. I need problems; I need work. And the sooner, the better!" On that note, he hurried out the door before I could object. I rolled my eyes and followed him, knowing further protest would be useless.


	2. Chapter 2

Basil of Baker Street &

The Case of the Emerald Ring

As told by David Q. Dawson, M. D.

_**Part 2**_**:**

Dark storm clouds were gathering in the sky as we made our way down the foggy streets of London. Despite the weather, I myself found the ride to Hampstead very pleasant. I chatted amiably with Miss Abby, partly as a way to divert her mind from the recent stressful events. Basil, however, seemed to be in no mood for idle conversation; he sat with arms folded, eyes closed, and head bowed, apparently deep in thought. He was never really rude to his clients, but I thought that he could at least be a tad more sociable. But at the time, I still barely knew him. As I became more acquainted with the mouse, I realized that he just did not follow the conventional social norms of the day.

And so the detective was silent for most of the journey. He spoke only once, in response to a question from Miss Abby.

"Mr. Basil, have you formed any idea as to who took my ring?" she asked hopefully.

The detective shrugged. "There are several possibilities, but it is a capital mistake to theorize before one has all the evidence. It biases the judgment; you begin to twist the facts to suit your theory, instead of the other way around." Seeing her downfallen face, he added, "But rest assured, Miss Abby, I'm sure finding the ring and the thief will prove an easy enough task once I've seen the evidence."

Thunder rumbled in the distance as we arrived at the Fletcher residence. It was a small, brick house, with several lovely rose bushes in front. Of course, this was also a human residence, so the entrance to the Fletcher's front door was hidden behind one of the rose bushes to the right of the steps. Miss Abby opened the door and led us to the sitting room. A middle-aged couple, introduced to us as Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher, sat together on the couch, and another younger mouse sat in a chair opposite them. The young mouse rose and went to Miss Abby. He took her hand and said, "Are you alright, Abby? I came as soon as I heard the news."

"Yes, Roger, I'm fine," she answered shyly. "Everyone, this is Mr. Basil of Baker Street, and his colleague, Dr. Dawson."

After introductions were made, Miss Abby asked, "Have the police already left?"

"Yes," Mrs. Fletcher replied, "soon after you departed for Baker Street."

"Did they find any clues?"

"No," replied Mr. Fletcher. "The inspector and his men took a brief look around the house and the garden, but didn't find a thing. He believes that the ring is still in this house, though we've searched it from top to bottom. I thought the fellow was quite rude; he said it was just a wild goose chase, and that he had far more important matters to attend to than searching for a lost ring."

While Mr. Fletcher spoke, I noticed that Basil kept glancing at Roger Garrett, who stood with his arm around Miss Abby. What was even more strange is that his gaze kept wandering down to Garrett's shoes. I saw nothing out of the ordinary about them; they appeared to be very nice, clean shoes.

Garrett must have noticed that Basil was inspecting him. He shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "I do hope you're able to make more sense of this mess than the inspector was," Garrett said.

"Oh, I don't think it should be too difficult to unravel," Basil replied with a slight smile.

"I just I hope Hannah had nothing to do with it," Miss Abby said sadly.

Garrett shook his head. "Yes, it would be such a shame. Hannah seems like such a nice girl. But I think she knows more than she is letting on."

"I have yet to believe that she is guilty of anything," Basil stated.

Garrett's eyebrows shot up, and he even appeared slightly amused. "Well, I suppose you're the expert." He then turned to Miss Abby and took her hand. "I'm sorry, darling, but I have an appointment, and am afraid I must go."

"Don't worry, I understand," Miss Abby replied.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to send for me," he added, putting on his coat. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He took his hat and cane from the coat stand, bid us good day, and left.

Basil watched the mouse suspiciously as he walked out the door. "If you don't mind, Miss Abby," he said presently, "I'd like to look around the garden first of all, before the rain arrives and washes away any potential clues."

"Of course," Miss Abby replied. "Right this way."

Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher remained in the living room, while Miss Abby escorted us down a long hallway and out a door to the garden. The garden itself was very beautiful, full of roses of every color and shade. But their beauty was lost on Basil as he got to work right away, whipping out his magnifying glass and bending down to examine the ground. As several raindrops fell from the sky, Miss Abby retreated inside the house. But Basil wouldn't let a little precipitation stop him from investigating. I remained outside with him, but stood off to the side so I wouldn't be in the way.

"Grayson and his men certainly did a good job of obliterating most of the evidence," he grumbled. "But I believe there is just enough left for me to make something of."

It was times like these when Basil was in his element. The smirk on his face and spark in his keen eyes showed that he loved this work. He relished the opportunity to test his mind to its full capacity. He followed the footprints all around the garden, sometimes going so far as to get on his hands and knees, with his nose almost touching the ground, to examine them more closely. He muttered and hummed to himself all the while. After disappearing for several minutes through a crack in the wooden gate, where the maid met with her lover, the rain began to fall harder. He reappeared and made his way quickly towards the house. After examining one of the windows, he finally came back to the door, and we went back inside.

As we reentered the living room, Miss Abby asked eagerly, "Did you find anything?"

"Yes. If you'll accompany me to the hall, I'll show you what I've discovered."

Our client did as he asked, and we entered the hall again. Basil stopped at a window overlooking the garden and explained.

"This window has been tampered with. There are scratches along the sill made by a knife or some other such instrument used to pry it open." He opened the window himself and examined it with his magnifying glass. "Ah. Here you can see a muddy footprint on the sill, which correspond with these on the carpet directly underneath. This no doubt was the thief's point of entry. Now, let's have a look at the scene of the crime. Miss Abby, may we inspect your room?"

"Of course. Right this way."

Miss Abby took us down a long hallway into a bedroom. It contained a small dresser and a wardrobe, with a bed and nightstand beside the window.

Basil walked over to the dresser. "This is where you keep the ring, correct?"

"Yes," Miss Abby replied.

After examining it for a moment, Basil dropped to his knees and examined floor.

"Well, this is certainly an experienced thief. He did an excellent job of not leaving any traces in this room. But perhaps Miss Hannah can help us shed some light on the mystery."

In few minutes, the maid, Hannah, was called into the dining room. Basil had requested that he and I could question her alone without an audience. She appeared to be very quiet and shy. The girl sat with her head bowed, staring at the floor, her hands clasped together tightly in her lap. As we entered the room, her head jerked up, and her eyes darted nervously from Basil to me. "M-My name's Hannah," she said quietly after Basil had introduced us. Her big, brown eyes were full of fear as she stuttered, "M-Mr. Basil, I…I d-didn't take the ring…"

The poor girl was clearly frightened. But Basil gently laid a hand on her shoulder, and began to speak words of reassurance to her. "It's alright, Miss Hannah," he said softly. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I would only like to ask you a few questions that may help us discover who the real culprit is."

She seemed to calm down a little and nodded. I was amazed at how Basil could calm someone with just a touch or a soft word spoken.

"Now then," the detective continued as he took a seat in front of her. "I understand that you meet a certain John Benet frequently out in the garden."

The young girl blushed. "Yes sir. He sometimes stops by on his way home from work."

"What time did you meet him last night?"

"Around ten o'clock."

"But he was late. You waited on him for some time, correct?"

The girl's frightened eyes grew wider at the statement. I was getting use to Basil's methods, so it didn't surprise me as much that he knew that, although _how_ he knew it was a different story. "Y-yes sir," she replied nervously. "He said that he had to work later than usual."

"About how long do you think you stood talking together?" Basil asked.

"A half hour or so."

"Then, when Miss Abby called you, you ran into the house?"

"Yes, sir. I kept telling him I needed to go back inside before I got in trouble, but he begged me to stay."

"During the course of the conversation, was the topic of the ring ever brought up?"

"No, sir. It was quite a normal conversation. We talked of how our day went, and he expressed how he wished he could see me more often. But then…." she trailed off, as if afraid to go on.

"It's alright. You can say whatever you want." When she hesitated, he added, "I want to help you, Miss Hannah, but in order to do so, you must tell me everything. You can trust me."

She took a shaky breath, and with her eyes downcast to the floor, she continued. "He suggested that I leave a window or door open for him, so that he could come back to talk with me later in the night." She added hastily, "But I told him that was foolish, and that we would certainly be caught; and I explained how Miss Abby locks all the windows and doors every night anyway. He tried to assure me that everything would be fine, and that he would lock it behind him, but I refused. It was then that Miss Abby appeared at the door and called me to come inside. I know he must be mad at me, but just I couldn't believe that John would suggest such a thing."

Basil nodded. "I think you acted very wisely. From what you've told us, it seems to me that you would be better off without his company."

She looked up at him with hope in her eyes. "I would never do anything to hurt Miss Abby. You believe me… don't you, Mr. Basil?"

"Yes. I believe that you are a very brave girl, and I admire you for standing up to John."

I must admit, I was surprised at his reaction to the girl's story. After Hannah left the room, I asked, "You really believe she is telling the truth?"

"Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

"Well, the way her eyes darted everywhere, how she would hardly make eye contact with us, and her general nervous appearance; it leads me to believe she is guilty."

Basil shook his head. "Her actions weren't the product of guilt, but of fear. She's scared, Dawson. Put yourself in her place. If she is blamed for the ring's disappearance, she will most certainly be relieved of her duties, perhaps even arrested. That's why she hesitated to tell us about Benet asking her to leave a window open. You see? She is afraid that she will end up either on the streets or in jail. That's why I was so gentle with her."

"But how can you be so sure that she was telling the truth?"

"Because of the evidence. You notice I began by telling her what I knew had transpired in the garden. Once she saw that I already knew what had happened, she had no choice but to agree. The footprints also correspond to her story. I know that Benet arrived later than usual because there is a cluster of Hannah's footprints walking back and forth just inside the gate, evidence that she had been pacing while awaiting his arrival."

"He could have given her instructions to bring the ring to him," I pointed out.

"But the footprint on the windowsill does not belong to Hannah. If she had merely opened the window for him, there would have been no need to force it open, as the scratches indicate. Besides, if she were his accomplice, she would have fled with him."

I tried to piece everything together. "So, John Benet came back after Hannah was called into the house, he forced the window open, then crept into Miss Abby's room while she was asleep and took the ring from the dresser? That seems awful risky to me."

"Exactly. But this thief seems to have remarkable confidence in himself and his abilities, although he has made one or two slipups. One of which was leaving this behind."

Basil handed me what appeared to be a business card that was splattered in several places with mud. It read "Roger Garret, Attorney at Law."

"Where did you find this?" I asked as I returned it to him.

"In the garden, underneath the window where the thief entered."

"But…what does it mean?" "It means we are that much closer to catching the villain."

I shook my head. "Closer? To me, the matter is growing more complicated by the minute."

"On the contrary, it is becoming quite clear to me. It is only a matter of time before we lay our hands on the culprit. Now, I have one last request to make of our client, and soon we shall have the thief in our grasp."

We made our way back to the sitting room, where Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher sat on the sofa with Miss Abby. As we entered, the young lady looked to us hopefully. "Have you made any progress, Mr. Basil?" she asked.

"Yes…I have solved it."

I admit that even I wasn't prepared for this answer. She and the Fletchers looked at him incredibly. "You…you solved it? Then you know where my ring is?"

"Yes, and I also know the identity of the thief."

"You do? But who-?"

Basil held up a hand. "All in good time, my dear," he said gently. "I know you're anxious to get the ring back, but you must trust me to work this out in my own little way. I promise I will explain everything in due time. However, there is not a moment to be lost, and we must be sure to exercise extreme caution."

"What would you have us to do?" asked Mr. Fletcher.

"I would like for you to get in touch with the Inspector as soon as possible," he instructed. "It is likely that his assistance will be needed. Tell him I sent for him, and he should come. Oh, and Miss Abby, would you object to our taking one more quick look around your room, just to be safe? Thank you. Come along, Dawson."

As they hastened to send for the Inspector, I followed the detective as he walked briskly back down the hall. I was amazed that he had solved the case so quickly. "Basil, do you really know who stole the ring?" I asked when we were once again in Miss Abby's room.

"Of course."

Not satisfied with this vague answer, I retorted somewhat huffily, "Well…then…who is it?"

He chuckled. "I see you're just as anxious about this as our lovely client. You have been very patient with me, Dawson, but I beg you to be so for just a little while longer. Right now, time is of the essence, and we don't have much of it. Now, I need you to do me a favor."

"I'm your mouse," I replied with a shrug.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Good! I knew I could rely on you, old chap. Come over here. No, no, come along the wall here; it is imperative that we keep away from the window. Good. Now, I need you… to hide in this wardrobe."

I wasn't certain I heard him correctly, and I almost laughed. But when he pushed me into the wardrobe, I protested. "What-? Basil, are you serious?" It was extremely cramped inside the closet, and the fact that I'm not exactly a thin mouse made matters worse.

"Just trust me, Doctor. I'll signal you when to come back out. Don't worry; I'll be close by. But do not come out, under any circumstance, until I tell you."

I hadn't the slightest idea of what was ticking inside that head of his, but I had complete confidence in him, and acquiesced to his instructions. He quickly shut the door of the wardrobe, leaving me in almost complete darkness. However, there was a small crack between the two doors, so I was able to peer out and see most of the bedroom. But the detective was nowhere to be found.

I didn't know what to make of his strange directions, but their purpose was made clear soon enough. After hiding in the cramped wardrobe for several minutes, I heard the bedroom door creak open as stealthy footsteps stole into the room…


	3. Chapter 3

Basil of Baker Street &

The Case of the Emerald Ring

As told by David Q. Dawson, M. D.

Peeping through the cracks in the closet door, I could dimly make out the shadowy figure tiptoeing around the room. He appeared to be searching for something, looking in every nook and cranny of the room. I fingered the revolver in my pocket, wondering if I should come out of my hiding place and question this intruder, but I remembered Basil's precise instructions to stay put until his signal. I wasn't even entirely sure what the signal was. However, fearing that I would jeopardize whatever his mission was, I remained hidden, hardly daring to breathe.

The figure stooped down on the floor and poked his head under the bed. Then a harsh voice over his shoulder said, "Looking for something?"

The intruder jumped in surprise and turned to look up into the sharp, green eyes of Basil of Baker Street. The detective glared at the intruder, and held up Roger Garrett's business card.

"I…I'm sure I don't know what you-" the figure began in a deep voice.

"You know very well what I mean," Basil interrupted. "I know everything, so you might as well give up this charade."

The other mouse chuckled darkly. "If only you could find Abby's ring as easily," he said, this time in a different voice. Although his back was to me, I could tell that he must have had a smirk on his face. He held out his hand for the card, but Basil didn't give it to him.

"I have a pretty good idea where the emerald is," Basil replied.

"Oh, do you now? Care to enlighten the rest of us?"

His insolence was maddening, but I admired Basil for enduring these insults so calmly. He spoke in a cold, controlled voice. "The game is up. I know you took it."

"You can't prove it."

"I can, and I will. I'm as certain that the black box containing the ring is in the inside right-hand pocket of your coat as I am of my own name. Now, I would rather not have to force it from you, so if you would be so kind as to place it in my hand and have a seat on the bed, I would appreciate it. It would not be in your best interest to attempt an escape. The police are already on their way. In fact, I believe I see Inspector Grayson himself making his way to the door now."

The thief glanced out the window nervously, but he seemed to give up; he hung his head and reached a hand into his pocket as if to hand over the ring. But a cold glint entered his eyes as he realized that the detective was the one obstacle between him and escape. Instead of the ring, he drew out a knife, and made a desperate lunge at Basil. Light glinted off the steel blade as the thief sliced at him; but Basil easily dodged out of the way and dealt a stinging blow to his hand, making him drop the weapon. As they grappled with each other in the semidarkness, it was hard for me to tell who was who. Basil was able to hold off his attacker for a few moments, but the sudden exertion seemed to drain him of energy, especially because of his recent injuries. The thief soon gained the upper hand, and as his hand closed around the detective's throat, Basil finally yelled, "NOW, Dawson!"

I immediately jumped out of my hiding spot and brought the butt of the revolver down between the thief's ears. Stunned, he released his hold on Basil, and I pulled him off of the detective and clapped the revolver to his temple. "Are you alright?" I asked Basil, keeping a tight hold on the thief.

"Yes…I believe so," he panted. "Quite a desperate fellow, isn't he?" he remarked with a smile as he dusted himself off. Then he chuckled. "See, Dawson? Looks like that revolver came in handy after all."

The thief gingerly rubbed the large bump that had appeared on his head. "What the…where did _you _come from?" he asked me dazedly.

It was Basil who answered. "I thought I might need some reinforcement, and it turns out I was right. Now once again, I must ask you to sit at the foot of the bed there. I wouldn't try anything else, unless you want my friend to knock a little more sense into you. Ah, good evening, Inspector. You took your time, didn't you?"

Inspector Grayson stepped into the room, along with Miss Abby and Mr. Fletcher. "Mr. Basil," said Grayson irately, "I hope you have a good explanation for dragging me back out here in the pouring rain…why, what happened here? What's going on?"

"Just a minor incident. Our thief came back to the scene of the crime, just as I expected."

"Thief?" Grayson asked bewilderedly. "Then the ring really was stolen?"

"Yes, as you would have found out, had you paid more attention to the evidence."

Grayson scowled at the remark. "Well, who the devil _is_ he?"

Instead of answering the Inspector, Basil turned to the maid, who was peering around the doorway. "Miss Hannah, do you recognize this mouse?"

She stepped into the room to get a closer look, then gasped. "I-It's John!"

"John Benet?" Miss Abby asked incredibly.

"Yes. However, if we make a few adjustments, you'll see that you know him better as…" Basil removed what was apparently a fake mustache and wig from the mouse, and the room grew deathly quiet. I was so shocked that I'm sure that my mouth must have been gaping wide open and my eyes bulging out of my head. Miss Abby finally broke the silence.

"_Roger_?"

Mr. Fletcher stuttered, "How can…you mean…?"

Basil nodded. "Roger Garrett and John Benet are one and the same."

…...

"You've got a lot of explaining to do, boy-o" said the inspector as he pushed the handcuffed thief into a dining room chair.

"I'm not saying anything," he snarled.

Basil stepped forward. "You don't have to; I will be happy to explain everything."

Basil still held the knife, and he showed it to us. "This knife was used to pry open the window in the hall. Observe that the initials R. F. are carved into the handle; they stand for Robert Flynn, the true identity of this mouse. He is a well-known criminal, and one of the few key members left of the late Professor Ratigan's gang. As a young mouse, he had a promising career as an actor on the stage, but was also a compulsive gambler; as he sank further into debt, he turned to more criminal means of making a living, and eventually joined Ratigan's gang. As you can see, his experience at the theater has made him a master of disguise, a talent which made him very useful to the Professor. But once Ratigan was defeated, and we rounded up most of the other thugs, Flynn was forced into hiding. It was best that he flee the country, but of course, he needed money to do so; which is why he stole your ring, Miss Abby."

"He was no doubt drawn to you because of your emerald ring. Under the guise of Roger Garrett, he became your friend, and once he learned of the ring's worth, he saw an easy opportunity to gain the money he needed to flee from the police. He became your suitor, in order to get closer to you, but stealing the ring proved to be a more difficult task than he first imagined, since you wore it constantly. Adopting yet another persona, that of Mr. John Benet, he also became acquainted with Hannah, the maid, and so learned that the only time you take off the ring is at night, right before you go to bed. And so, night would be the ideal time to steal the ring.

"But he also learned that you locked all the windows and doors yourself. So he attempted to persuade Hannah to let him inside, on the pretense that he wanted to spend more time with her. But, seeing the folly in such action, she refused. So, Flynn realized that he would have to resort to breaking and entering. He hid in some bushes near the gate, waiting until he was sure all inside the house were sound asleep. Then he made his move. He crept down the path, and using the knife, was able to force the window open. Once safely inside, he went quietly down the hall to Miss Abby's room, took the box containing the ring, and slipped out as quietly as he came.

"But when you returned home with your prize, you realized that you had left something behind. You've had several different business cards made for each of your many aliases, stating a different name and profession. I found this card lying half buried in the mud outside. Once you realized your mistake, you decided to come back to the scene of your crime, this time as Roger Garrett so as to avoid suspicion, and recover what you had lost. But with Dawson and I being present, you didn't have the chance to search the house. You would have done better to have just left with the ring while you had the chance. But, fearing that the truth would be discovered, you made your way back here as John Benet, thinking that Dawson and I would have been gone by that time. I knew that you would return to recover the card, so I sent the Fletcher's out of the house to send for the Inspector, and then cornered you in Miss Abby's room. Realizing just how desperate the situation was, you resorted to attacking me, and would have added murder to your growing list of offenses, had I not taken the precaution of having Dawson hide nearby in the wardrobe, in case I needed assistance."

Basil paused for a moment, standing with a slight smile of triumph, giving all the information a chance to soak in.

"Remarkable!" exclaimed Mr. Fletcher.

"Elementary," replied Basil with a slight bow.

"But how did you figure out that they were the same person?" Miss Abby asked.

Basil explained. "There were two pieces of evidence that led me to that conclusion: the footprints in the garden, and this business card.

"When we first met Mr. Garrett, the first thing I noticed about him was his distinctive handmade shoes. I observed that there scratches in the leather near the sole. That suggested that he had been walking in a muddy place, much like the garden, and in the process of trying to scrape the mud off, he cut the leather of the shoe.

"Once I examined the footprints in the garden, things began to fall into place. I found the footprints that belonged to John Benet, the so-called smith, to be rather peculiar. They were made by a soft soled shoe, which would be particularly useful for sneaking about a house whose occupants were asleep. Needless to say that is hardly the type of shoe worn by smiths, who typically tend to wear heavy boots. The pattern on the sole of those shoes is unique to a particular brand of dress shoes, which were identical to those that Roger Garrett was wearing.

"I also became suspicious when I discovered the business card. You'll notice that there is no address; what kind of businessman doesn't reveal his place of business? And so, my suspicions were confirmed."

Flynn glared at Basil the whole time he explained. "Congratulations, Mr. Basil," he said with a smirk on his face. "You figured it out. I guess it was stupid of me to think that you wouldn't, especially since you were smart enough to defeat Professor Ratigan himself." The smile faded and he gritted his teeth. "But just you wait, detective. If you're not careful, one of these days your meddling will cost you your neck."

"You pay me an enormous complement, Mr. Flynn," Basil said with a smile. "Allow me to pay you one in return by saying that I admire you somewhat for your remarkable confidence. It takes someone with a cool hand to steal something from the very room where a person is sleeping, especially with the high risk of waking them. Then you came back to the scene of the crime, risking everything in order to retrieve the card that you had dropped. You even had the courage to attempt to deceive not just one, but two innocent women. But your mistake was believing that you could go so far and get away with it. There is such a thing as too much confidence, as you've learned to your great cost."

After Grayson had led Flynn away, Miss Abby turned to us with a beautiful smile as she looked at the recovered gem on her finger. "Thank you so much, Mr. Basil. This ring means the world to me. I can't thank you enough for finding it, and for exposing Roger for who he really is."

Basil bowed again. "No thanks is necessary, madam. The work itself is reward enough for me. It is I who should be thanking you. This was a most intriguing case, and I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Now Dawson," he said turning to me, "I do believe we'll be back at Baker Street just in time to enjoy Mrs. Judson's delicious supper."

…..

The next day, we were once again in the comfort of the sitting room at 221 ½ B Baker Street. Miss Abby had expressed her profound thanks at Basil finding her beloved ring. The detective had refused any type payment for his services at first, but finally accepted a small fee at his client's insistence. He now sat in his favorite red armchair, the smoke from his pipe swirling about his head, and I sat in the green chair across from him.

"I still can't believe the results of this case," I remarked to Basil. "How that one mouse could adopt two different personalities, and be able to fool everyone around him. To me, Roger Garrett seemed to be such a nice, respectable gentleman, and acted as if he truly loved Miss Abby."

Basil nodded. "Yes, but that is the key word; he 'acted.' That is why it is so important to not let your own personal biases rule over the facts. You see that although he seemed to be the most respectable of persons, the evidence stated otherwise. And you also must remember his background. He has trained as an actor for years, so it was not that difficult for him to adopt two different personas."

"I'm still amazed at how quickly you were able to solve this case."

"It was elementary, my dear Dawson," he replied with a hint of a smile.

After thinking for a moment, I remarked, "You should publish accounts of your cases. The public should know of your remarkable powers. I would be happy to do it for you, if you want."

"You may do what you like, Doctor," he answered with a shrug. "But look at this!" He tossed me the day's newspaper. He refilled his pipe as I read the small column about Flynn's arrest.

"Yesterday evening," it read, "a most wanted criminal was finally apprehended in Hampstead. Robert Flynn has eluded the police for some time because of his talents as a master of disguise. But, after months of frustration, Inspector Thomas Grayson of Scotland Yard found Flynn while investigating a small matter concerning a missing emerald ring. Mr. Basil of Baker Street and Dr. David Dawson were also of some assistance, as it was discovered that Flynn was a key member of the late Professor Ratigan's gang. Flynn's capture is a great triumph for Inspector Grayson, whose famous tenacity and persistence is a shining example to the amateur detective…"

I could read no more. "This is absurd!" I exclaimed. "Grayson wasn't even investigating the case…Miss Abby came to you because he didn't even believe that the ring had been stolen! And to go so far as to call you an amateur…why, it's positively maddening!"

The detective chuckled. "Yes, Doctor, this is the result of our efforts. Now you understand my frustration. But we mustn't blame Grayson. He is one of Scotland Yard's finest, and I believe he has potential, if only he is willing to learn. But he will have to overcome his pride, which is no mean feat. And I am an amateur, in that I do the work more for pleasure rather than payment. But you know, I'm actually surprised that our names were mentioned at all."

"Well, don't worry, old boy," I assured him. "I have all the facts in my journal, as well as those from the Flaversham case, and the world will soon know the truth. Once they read of the exploits of the great mouse detective, you will receive the recognition you deserve."

And so, it was from that time on that I became the chronicler of Basil of Baker Street, the great mouse detective.

THE END


End file.
